The Escort, a strange, squirrel-mannered man named Rayan, rouses me in the morning, but I'm finding it hard to wake up, with the sound of the train under me, and the terribly-subtle rocking, not to mention the softness of the bed. Yesterday was a horribly trying day, and the farther away I travel from District 3, the easier it is to keep from crying. Though I did break my stricture on crying last night.
It couldn't be helped, really. I'm not made of stone. I decide that it might be easier to just not cry in the arena...hopefully I can keep that promise to myself, at least. Crying tends to take everything out of me and leave me weak. It would be best not to be weak in the arena. At least not more than I already am.
Breakfast is lovely. The food is pretty. I've never seen most of the stuff on the table...except for the coffee, that I'm thankful for. There's a bright orange juice that turns out to be just what it is—orange juice! It's so incredibly sweet, sweeter than the strawberries I had on the previous night. And something called a 'donut' that I adore. Real eggs. Real milk. Most of the food in District 3 comes out of tins, or out of a box, or needs water added to it. And mostly, it's just enough to keep you from starving. Geiger and I try to figure out how much this meal would cost in District 3, but ultimately, we decide it's priceless.
I can't imagine how Capitol people aren't all walking pudge-balls, really, if this is how they eat.
After we've satiated much of our hunger, Beetee clears his throat. "When you arrive at the Capitol, you'll be meeting your stylists and your prep team. You should pay attention to what they tell you, because really, they're only trying to help you. Anything they ask of you, do it. They'll be strange to your eyes, but remember that they're just people."
It's obvious he's given this little speech many, many times. It has the air of a memorized speech, though he doesn't deliver it that way. I can tell on his face that he's worried. I want to tell him not to worry but I don't want Geiger to know how hard I'm going to try to win. I'm trying not to think of him dead, but if I win...he's going to be. And I don't know what to think of that. Not for the first time, I'm hating the position the Capitol is putting me in.
The train car goes dark, startling me, but then Beetee's voice comes faintly to my ear: "It's just the tunnel through the mountains."
Of course, I should have known that. I must not be thinking straight. Or maybe it's the thoughts of what I'm going to have to do that are preoccupying my thoughts, which are as dark as this tunnel.
When the car finally floods with light again, my eyes are immediately drawn to the window, and I wander over to them, almost in a sort of dream-state. I've seen the Capitol on television, of course. But I've never seen such colors, perhaps when gasoline spills on the ground and the dreary light hits it, you get muted tones of those colors... But these are bright and dazzling, and they hurt my eyes. Snatches of captured poetry my father has taught me through the years come to mind, odd little bits of verse:
All that is gold does not glitter
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are...
But the one that best fits, I murmur aloud, just under my breath: "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here..."
We're hustled off the train, and immediately, I'm placed in the hands of three very odd looking personages: my prep team. Not the stylist yet...just the prep team.
A more strange group of people I've never seen in my life. Wild colors on every surface of their bodies, on eyelids, on skin, on hair. One of the women has colored crystals embedded in her skin. And they all talk a mile-a-minute as they tear off all of my body hair, for what reason, I still have no idea. I'm frankly surprised, upon returning to my room at the end of the day, that I still have some semblance of eyebrows left. But, as they work, I can sense the despair emanating from them, that I'm homely and quite beyond hope. They make half-hearted attempts at joking around, but never with me, just with each other.
But most people think of me like that, hell, I think of me like that. So I tell myself that I really don't mind it.
At least not until my stylist comes into the room. He is quite possibly the strangest living creature I have ever seen. Nothing about him can be called natural in the slightest way. His skin is pale green, his eyes are purple and his hair is a bright, shocking white. He's tall and slender, and wearing clothes of ethereal silvery-blue. Despite all of this, I have to admit there's something beautiful about him, and I can barely take my eyes off him as he inspects me.
"Hello, Miss Wiress. My name is Angelus, and I'm your stylist," he says, in the clipped tones and hissing sibilants of the Capitol, but his voice is high, soft and gentle. Comforting, in a way.
But I'm naked when I meet him, which is embarrassing. It wasn't so bad when it was just the prep team...but standing next to Angelus, I look and feel like a starveling child, a girl raised on and in garbage. Next to him, I feel every bit the 'rat-faced girl'. I can almost see his thoughts on his face: What am I going to do with this girl? I drop my eyes and my chin to look at my feet.
"Stop that," he says, softly but firmly, and places a finger beneath my chin to lift up my head. To my dismay, a tear has slipped down my cheek. Really, it shouldn't be so bad, everyone thinking about how homely I am, I tell myself often enough how homely I am...
"Smile for me," he says next, and I do, my lips trembling. He smiles back at me, his own dazzling smile. "Now, look at those teeth. Good teeth are expensive in the Capitol, and she gets hers for free." He leans forward conspiratorially. "You should hear how much I paid for mine."
Everyone laughs lightly at this, even me. I can feel the attitudes towards me change noticeably. He picks up my robe and drapes it over my shoulders. "Come, sit," he says cheerfully, "Let's look at clothes." There's a sofa nearby and we sit down and flip through his design book together. "I've never designed for Three before," he confides. "I've always thought it might be fun. You make all the fun little gadgets there."
I give him a little grin. It mightn't be so fun to live there sometimes, but he's right. We do make all the fun little gadgets. We flip through his design book and I look at dress designs incorporating lightening bolts, TVs and even cars. And then he says something that shocks me.
"Your name is already known in certain circles of the Capitol," he says. "For your inventions."
It shocks me that he even knows about them. The designs are not for fun things like cars or music players. The designs are for water pumps, airbrushes, compressors. Give me what it needs to do, and I can build a machine to do it.
"We use airbrushes sometimes in our work," he explains. "The new ones work like a dream."
And there's the blushing again. As if he's just said some romantic nonsense to me.
"Ah," he says, pleased. "There you are, Wiress. That's what the audience—and the sponsors—want to see: a blushing young girl who is just a touch smug."
I giggle. I can't help myself, I'm flattered. This isn't like me at all, or at least I don't think it is.
What is wrong with me?
"...and dangerous. You do know intelligence is dangerous, don't you, dear?" Angelus chuckles. "That's the sort I've been waiting for. Come. Let's dress you up."
Two hours later, I'm walking to meet my district partner, and when he catches sight of me, his mouth falls open. Mine does too.
Geiger looks like a prince from the fairy-tales my father has told me. He might be tall and skinny but he's got this real look of valor around him. His suit is a silvery gray, the fabric with a subtle pattern of gears and circuit boards. He blinks at me.
"Um, hi Geiger," I say, feeling a bit self-conscious.
"You look amazing," he says frankly.
Well. Anything would have to be better than what I'd worn in Three for all of my life. But even I have to admit it is quite a transformation. I am wearing an off the shoulder gown, made from that same silvery-gray fabric, and tiny sparkly gears are scattered over my skin and in my hair, which is piled elegantly on my head. My hair feels weird and heavy, and I have to concentrate very hard on 'head high, chin up' as Angelus has suggested. They've done things to my face, too, swirls of silver near my ears and sweeps of green near my eyes to make them 'pop', whatever that means. I look like nothing on earth, which I suppose was what Angelus is going for. Everyone seems very pleased with the results, and truth be told, so am I.
I grin over at Geiger. "You look wonderful too. I guess the running theme is 'King and Queen of the Gearheads'." This makes him laugh and he looks even better when he laughs, better than he has since our arrival.
"Maybe," he says, and grins back over at me.
I can see why girls like him. He is very handsome, especially when he smiles. But we are just friends...and I feel bad that our friendship will end in the arena, one way or another.
With Angelus' help, we get into the silver chariot. "Head high, chin up," he tells me. "And smile. Charm them."
Charm them. Well. I knew how to do that. If a homely girl doesn't have charm, she doesn't get very far in life. I don't know if I get it from my mother or my father, but at any rate, I'm grateful for it, and how natural it is. And I always know what people want.
The crowds are cheering for the tributes. The force of it nearly loses me my balance in the chariot. But then I start smiling and laughing and waving to the crowds. Geiger is looking at me like I'm nothing he's seen in life.
Well. I've had no reason to be charming around him, have I? Not specifically, anyway. He takes his cues from me, and begins some charm of his own. I'm glad of that. He needs to break away from me.
It's noise and chaos and I don't win everyone over, of course, but there are a few. I can always tell when people like me.
By the time we reach the end and get out of the chariot, both of us are flushed and a bit messy. A few of the other tributes are looking at me. They can tell I've made an impression but they don't know why. They don't see me as a threat. But then, they don't need to. Not yet. I don't know them, and there's been precious little time to observe.
But tomorrow, training begins. Then we'll see.